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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A Millionaire of Yesterday"

She looked at her
watch and after a moment's hesitation called a hansom.
81, Culpole Street, she told him. "This is a little extravagant,"
she said to herself as the man wheeled his horse round, "but to-day
I think that I have earned it."

CHAPTER XVII

"Ernestine," he said gravely, "I am going to speak to you about
your father!"
She looked up at him in swift surprise.
"Is it necessary?"
"I think so," he answered. "You won't like what I'm going to tell
you! You'll think you've been badly treated. So you have! I
pledged my word, in a weak hour, with the others. To-day I'm going
to break it. I think it best."
"Well?"
"You've been deceived! You were told always that your father had
died in prison. He didn't."
"What!
Her sharp cry rang out strangely into the little room. Already he
could see signs of the coming storm, and the task which lay before
him seemed more hateful than ever.
"Listen," he said. "I must tell you some things which you know in
order to explain others which you do not know. Your father was a
younger son born of extravagant parents, virtually penniless and
without the least capacity for earning money. I don't blame him
- who could? I couldn't earn money myself. If I hadn't got it I
daresay that I should go to the bad as he did.


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